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He whispered in her ear. Courtlaw—Lady Mackinnor. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. " "He has done too much already," answered the widow.

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